


Bound by Delicate Dread

by orphan_account



Category: Breaking Bad, Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Avoxes (Hunger Games), Awkward Crush, Crossover, Developing Friendships, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gen, Lesbian Character, POV Johanna Mason, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Book 1: The Hunger Games, Rebellion, The Capitol (Hunger Games)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26648779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Against all odds, Johanna makes friends with a Capitol official after accidentally encountering her in an elevator.
Kudos: 7





	Bound by Delicate Dread

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place in The Hunger Games universe and focuses on Johanna! Knowledge about Breaking Bad isn't required, as this fanfiction features a side character from the series that I just happen to like.  
> Small warning for emetophobia in the middle of the fic.

_**Ding!** _

It's the tell-tale sound of the elevator bell to the suites atop the tribute center. That glass one, it's hard to miss — it shoots through the entire building and can take a person wherever they need to be. Well, the freedom is limited for Johanna, for incredibly obvious reasons — being a Victor means extra privileges, but she's still technically below Capitol officials in status, and obviously at the mercy of Snow at any given moment.

Thinking about that, however, just leaves Johanna feeling rather enraged, so she leaves the thought off to the side as she pushes herself into the elevator. There are some loudly chattering Capitol citizens dressed in gaudy clothes, looking like a couple of _birds of paradise_ with all of the color but none of the beauty. When they see her, their expressions shift to that of surprise.

"My goodness, are you…" The one begins, clutching his female partner's hand as a goofy and thoughtless smile grows upon his face. "Johanna Mason?"

"Oh, I'm simply your biggest fan," the woman, probably his wife or sleazy mistress, squeals. "The way you slaughtered so many tributes without hesitation! Oh, it was simply divine!"

The imagery of her own blood-soaked hands hits Johanna like a kick to the gut. Every time she goes out here to the Capitol, she gets reminded of her horrendously traumatic teenage years. Frankly, for these fetishistic assholes even mentioning it, Johanna is furious at them — she wants to _end_ their lives. It's a pretty rude thought, but that's all her mind is filled with anyhow as far as anyone else could be concerned.

"Thanks," she replies abruptly, her already high-pitched voice raising to a loud chirp.

"Darling," the man starts in an overly boisterous tone of voice. He's about six feet tall, which makes him unfortunately towering in comparison to Johanna. "Could you ready your camera? I want a photo of this magnificent gem! Look at her, a positively vicious and fearsome beast! She's stunning!" He claps his hands loud enough that Johanna jumps backward, her back up against the glass elevator.

As she staggers backward, she bumps into another Capitol woman — a shorter brunette wearing deep blue who looks considerably less flashy than anyone in this building. She's got green eyes and long, straight dark hair, and she flinches and gasps out of surprise when Johanna bumps into her. "Excuse me," the woman whispers uncomfortably, her jaw tensed and arms folded over her chest.

"Shit. Sorry," Johanna has it in her to apologize in a hurried and hushed tone as she turns back around to face the couple. The moment she does, however, she's blinded by a camera flash. The sudden light fills her view with static. The two people morph into nothing but static in her eyes as the woman moves in to wrap her arm around Johanna's waist.

"Say cheese, _shmoopy,"_ the man slurs loudly enough to make the other woman in the room startle even further, ducking down onto the floor and curling in on herself. Johanna squints and covers her eyes, hurriedly throwing a hand in front of her face and clenching her jaw.

The elevator _dings_ again. They're getting closer to the suites. Taking a deep and trembling breath, Johanna steels herself. "Great!" For one single word, the utterance is loud and high enough to stop the starstruck giggling and leave the tiny space relatively silent. The only sound that can be heard is shaky breathing, which Johanna first mistakes to be her own until she takes a deep breath and realizes it's the other, smaller brunette who's hyperventilating as she ducks on the floor. Hearing the fear in her hitched breathing and noticing the way she's trembling, Johanna is hit by a wave of guilt.

So, Johanna spins around to the startled couple and flashes a bright, pearly grin. "Hey, thanks for the photo, you two! That was fuckin' amazing!" She laughs, but the laugh isn't humorous — in fact, it's filled with poorly concealed rage the likes of which she's unfortunately infamous for. For the sake of her own sanity, and for that of the two tributes she's mentoring this year, she has to keep herself together. Anxiously, she glances back at the panicking woman who's now pressed up the glass. She wants to apologize again, but public politeness hasn't gotten her anywhere in the past.

By now, the other two people in the elevator have directed disturbed, uncomfortable expressions to the other woman. Capitol citizens _do_ tend to direct their attention to pain and suffering.

"Dearest?" The man of the shitty couple asks with an awkward grimace. "Do you think this is our stop? We, um… We really should be watching the broadcast for training. We wouldn't want to miss the recaps when they're… uh, well, you know!"

"Ah, of course! Look at us, going wild and jabbering like a couple of Jabberjays!" His mistress, or wife, or whoever she's supposed to be — well, she doesn't seem too bothered by the alarming amounts of discomfort in the tiny elevator. She looks at the elevator console, presses the button for the nearest floor, and with an airy giggle, she nods her head. "Ta-tah, miss Mason! We _love_ your brutality!"

Johanna bites the inside of her cheek, her brown eyes widened and her head swimming. She feels as if she's going to pass out with what energy she has left. It's only evening and her head is fucking killing her. She clenches her fists, standing still as a statue as she makes direct eye contact with the bubbly Capitol woman. "And I love your ass," Johanna replies in an intentionally obnoxious tone of voice. It's completely impulsive and illogical, as she clearly detests everything about these two strangers. She looks down at her own shoes. Platform heels.

"Excuse me?" The man is instantly offended, stepping closer to level an insulted look at Johanna. "What did you just say to my wife?"

"Hey, buddy, don't get too worked up," replies Johanna in a strained voice. With an exhausted grunt, she dips down to the floor, gripping her left shoe. She yanks it off of her foot with relative ease and, gripping it in her right hand, leveling a dangerous gaze at the man. "I'm just saying, you know, your wife might need to see a proctologist on account of how far I'm about to shove this shoe up her ass."

The wife lets out a disgraceful shriek, clearly offended. "What a horrible thing to say! I just cannot _believe_ that a _Victor_ would behave this way!"

Just in time, the elevator doors slide in and open up to an empty hallway. Johanna, in a heat-of-the moment decision, lobs her shoe at the man. It doesn't hit hard, but it outrages his wife enough to elicit a death glare from the woman. Johanna just squints back at her, and in a fit of rage and disgust, the woman picks up Johanna's shoe, grabs her husband by the hand, and bolts down the hallway.

Johanna is alone now — wait, shit, no. She isn't alone after all. The other woman, the one who she'd bumped into, is still in a state of complete panic and shock. She's covering her face, her breathing completely erratic and unsteady. Still in her own state of panic, Johanna herself is shaking, but the sight of someone so genuinely _frightened_ of her is chilling.

Johanna Mason is not known for her kindness; she lacks the well-loved, popular reputation of other Victors. If her best friend Finnick had been here, he'd probably be much more adept at handling the situation. The guy's got a level of charisma astronomically higher than Johanna's and he'd know better what to do here than Johanna herself. She doesn't envy him, but she does wish she had at least _some_ of his social skills.

One thing Johanna does at least understand is what it feels like to be a crying, fearful woman. Taking a deep breath, she steps over to the other woman. The elevator door closes and the elevator resumes its upward ascent as she decides to stand beside the other woman, giving her a gentle touch on the shoulder.

"Hey," Johanna says softly. "Sorry I bumped into you like that."

The other woman freezes at that moment, like she's been put on pause. She pulls her hands away from her face and stares back at the young Victor. She looks like she's about to say something, but then she covers her mouth with her hand, backing away toward the other side of the elevator, which isn't particularly far to begin with.

Johanna, a greatly damaged woman at the age of 20, is hardly a paragon of mental health, but this woman looks to be a good few years older than she is and she's absolutely _freaked out._ That's the kind of behavior one could come to expect from someone in District 7, maybe, but not in a city full of stuck-up and gaudy-dressed elitists. Taking a deep breath and letting out the air with a tremble that gives away her own teenseness, she frowns and avoids eye contact. "And sorry about all the yelling. Seriously, are you okay?"

"I'm…" Rather abruptly, the long-haired woman stands, but she's wobbling on her designer heels. She reaches into a bag she's been carrying over her shoulder and, after a moment of fumbling with her belongings, she pulls some sunglasses out of a case and puts them on. "I should probably be going back to my room, and… I… I should leave. Excuse me…" She staggers toward the elevator door and, just as she gets there they've reached District 7's apartment suite. The other woman, who's just a little above five feet tall with a slender and rigid stature, teeters into the hall.

Johanna decides to follow. "Hey, wait!" She makes a start to run but immediately staggers due to wearing only one shoe. Without any hesitance, she flings the other shoe off and it lands somewhere in the elevator. Paying the lack of shoes no mind, she pads down the hall and over to the shorter woman. She's wearing a long coat over a blouse and pencil skirt. The lady looks like she's on her way to the _panic attack conference._

Upon noticing that Johanna is catching up to her, she freezes in her place and holds her hands up defensively. Even with the sunglasses concealing her eyes, her nose is reddened and there are tears. "Please don't kill me. I— I didn't mean to interfere with you, you _have_ to understand. I was just…" As she speaks, she brings her hands back together so that she may fidget and pick at her fingers. "I'm sorry. You have to believe me, I don't even like watching the Games. The last thing I -- and I mean this, the last thing I want to do is interfere with what you're doing."

The panic in the other woman's eyes is all too familiar, but her words stand out. Johanna herself is shaking and on the verge of crying, too — it's like a butterfly effect, or whatever the term for that is. Taking a deep breath, she looks over to the door to her suite, and then back to the shorter woman. As she processes what has been said, she can't help but feel a sense of confusion overtake her.

"Wait, seriously?" Johanna's voice is softer now, her eyebrows raised. "Look, I'm sorry that I frightened you, but you're talking…"

She levels a glance at the elevator, which has since moved on, before looking back over to the other woman and continuing.

"You're talking a little _loud_."

That's a complete lie; the other woman's voice has been a hurried and unstable croak, more than a loud series of exclamations. Being told that she's loud seems to cause her a degree of discomfort, even if it wasn't Johanna's intention.

"Excuse me? I… I'm being loud?" What might seem like a sarcastic question comes off as completely genuine to Johanna. The short woman starts again, standing still as her words waver. "Johanna Mason… _Miss_ Mason, I can promise you, I... I have _nothing_ to do with the Hunger Games. I am _not_ a Gamemaker. I'm a head of logistics for transportation in the Capitol, not anybody you need to worry about."

Johanna takes a step closer and the woman gasps silently, as if drowning, and stares at her with horrified anticipation. Before Johanna can get a word in, the other woman continues.

"I can promise you, with — with everything in me, I do _not_ want your autograph or any trouble with you. Miss Mason, I have a _daughter_ . She's only six years old. If I don't… if I don't ever get back to her, I…" Beginning to choke back a sob, the woman flinches as Johanna gets even closer. "Please. Please, I swear I will not tell _anyone_ about this if you let me get back to my room unharmed."

Now it's Johanna'a turn to freeze in place. In any other occasion, she'd be calling Finnick up and renting the room with him just as an excuse to bitch to him about the mildly inconveniencing encounter with a rude couple of Capitol idiots. Instead, she feels a sense of urgency and panic for the absolutely terrified state this woman is in. Johanna wasn't planning on doing anything to her, doesn't know her.

"Hey, hey…" Johanna speaks in a soft, low voice, her eyes flitting in the direction of where any camera or wire could be. "Miss, uh… transportation lady," she starts.

"Lydia Rodarte-Quayle," the woman fills in before Johanna can say much. She flinches, adding timidly, "That's… that's my name."

A name is a good start. "Lydia Rodarte-Quayle? That's a pretty name." Her voice, typically high and aggressive, has gone down to a gentle and soft-spoken tone. "Okay, look, Lydia, here's the thing: you obviously were just riding the elevator with those two chuckleheads when I happened to come on in and take the ride up."

Lydia seems taken aback by the tonal shift. She sniffles, her posture wavering as she wraps her arms around her body in a defensive gesture. "That's true," she replies. "I wouldn't have ridden the elevator at all if I knew this was going to h-- happen. What are you going to do?"

"What am _I_ going to do?" Johanna counters, clearly bewildered. It sounds like Lydia is anticipating a threat. Oh, _god_ . Her behavior _is_ high-risk. Johanna frowns. "Shit, I don't know. Go back into my hotel room and have another panic attack, probably cry myself to sleep over this whole shebang. Does it matter what I'm going to do?"

Lydia is silent as she stares at Johanna and, reaching up to take her sunglasses off, she lowers them carefully to reveal her widened eyes. "You're not going to hurt me? I -- I mean, you aren't _angry_ at me?"

Johanna takes a deep breath, running it through her long, dark hair that's been in the same bun for twelve hours. Her hair is so caked up with hair spray and beauty products that it feels like it's made of pine straw; she won't even get the privilege of running a hand through it until she's back into her own room. Shaking her head, she lets out a bitter little laugh, cracking a tired smile. "Oh my god, _no._ I'm not. That's the thing, I'm usually pissed and annoyed by everything, but you did absolutely nothing to even… I don't know, _warrant_ my anger."

"Oh," Lydia replies softly, looking down at her feet. She's teetering even more and she looks as if she's ready to fall over. "Okay. Sorry, that just isn't what I was expecting to hear. I've… I've never met a Victor in person before, and this isn't… this isn't what I expected. I'm so sorry."

She flinches visibly when Johanna puts an arm on her shoulder.

"Hey, it's fine. You wanna come back to my suite for a minute? No tricks up my sleeves, I promise. I'd have to be _really_ fucking stupid to want to kill you over this. I just… I just want to make sure you're okay." Johanna, placing a hand upon Lydia's upper back, guides her very gently through the hall and toward her room. Lydia limply complies as Johanna opens the door to her room with her key card. Cool air immediately wafts from the lofty space and, fortunately, Lydia goes right for it.

Johanna's room, much like any Victor's room, is the picture image of luxury. It's decorated just as any Victor's Suite would be, about as generic as it can be for someone who doesn't have any close relatives. It's not necessarily impersonal, though; there's a large screen displaying a view of the forest, with bird songs and natural light filtering in from the screen, right where the window would typically be. It's about as close as she can get to being at home without actually going back to Seven.

Lydia doesn't seem to mind at all. She staggers toward the sofa immediately and Johanna allows her to have a seat.

"Let me get you some water," Johanna decidedly says, stepping into the kitchen area after taking off her singular shoe. That helps a _lot_ with walking around in a manner that isn’t a totally embarrassing, goofy looking waddle, unsurprisingly.

"Okay," Lydia replies softly, reaching into her bag and rifling through her belongings again as Johanna heads into the kitchen only to see an Avox in the room.

 _Shit. There really are eyes and ears everywhere._ The Avox, a woman with short sandy blonde hair who's served Johanna two years in a row, is already moving to pour some water when Johanna steps up to her.

"Hey, I'm sorry," Johanna whispers to the mute woman who's been overhearing the entire conversation. The woman flinches but doesn't make eye contact. She must know well that this other woman in the room, lest she speak too much, could be subject to the same fate.

Johanna grinds her teeth, taking a deep breath and whispering. "Uh, hey — honestly, I kind of want some privacy. This woman, she's, um…"

Johanna turns her head back toward Lydia, who hasn't moved much at all since sitting there. Johanna takes a deep breath, looking back at the Avox.

"She's my girlfriend," Johanna lies. "That, uh… That woman on the couch having a panic attack is my date, and I don't want you to have to be in the room to… You know what I'm saying?"

The Avox flinches when Johanna inserts herself into her fame of view, nodding her head as if to say _I won't listen._ Thing is, Johanna doesn't want _this_ person to get in trouble any more than she already has, so she decides to take things a little further.

"I know this is basically the work you're forced to do, so please just, _uh…_ Go take a break, eat some of the food or drink some water in the other room. Take a nap if you need to. I'll wake you up when we're done."

The Avox woman seems hesitant, so Johanna gets herself over the fridge and retrieves some food she stole from a banquet. She hands the poor lady a container of soup. "Just… _uh_ , reheat this if you want, put it in a blender, I don't give a shit. I just need some privacy."

The Avox nods compliantly, a small expression of gratitude crossing her features before she accepts the offered food and turns to the unused second room in Johanna's apartment. She closes the door behind her quietly as Johanna turns around to meet Lydia's surprise.

"You lied to an Avox," Lydia says softly, staring at Johanna. When Johanna meets her gaze, Lydia's own falters. "Why'd you… why would you do that? You don't even _know_ me, and you're risking that for me?"

Johanna clears her throat awkwardly. "Yeah, sorry about that. I know that's kind of a fucked up thing to do just to get some privacy," she clarifies as she _herself_ pours the glass of water for Lydia. When she brings the water over, Lydia accepts it, swallowing down a pill she's been keeping in her hand.

"What was that for?" Johanna asks, suddenly concerned. "That… that wasn't, like, _nightlock extract_ or anything, was it?"

Lydia shakes her head quickly. "God, no. It's… it's for the panic attacks. I'll be… I'll be fine… I just need to get a hold of myself." She sniffles, rubbing her face exhaustedly like she's preparing for something she hadn't planned on. "How do we have to make this lie convincing? Should we… I mean, do you… Do you _want_ to have sex with me right now?"

Johanna nearly chokes on her saliva from embarrassment. "No! I… I mean, you're _gorgeous_ , but I just said what I said so you could have the privacy to come down from the panic attack you've been having."

Lydia looks down at the water, and then over to Johanna. She looks to be in her early thirties, probably a good _ten or more_ years older than Johanna, who just recently hit twenty years of age. It's no secret that Johanna eyes other women quite often, but there's a world of difference between what the masses perceive her as, versus what's actually true. The truth is, Johanna is the furthest thing from promiscuous, in spite of her socially unacceptable behavior in public.

"So, let me get this straight," Lydia stammers out. "You… you brought me back to your room just to help me calm down from a panic attack? That's… That's really all you wanted to do?"

"Yeah. I get a lot of panic attacks myself, so…" Johanna trails off, giving a noncommittal twirl of her hand and making a funny, if-not uncomfortable face. "I know that's not the smoothest way to do it, but you were talking about not liking the Games and it really hit me. I mean, wow. That's incredibly brave of you to say in the middle of the _Capitol_ , of all places." She manages an embarrassed smile which fades into a gloomy frown. Her stomach is hurting from the stress.

"Miss Mason," Lydia starts, and Johana cuts her off.

"Just _Johanna_ works," Johanna decidedly tells her. Being spoken to with respect like this feels surreal, in truth; nobody likes Johanna enough to do so. She'd figure that Lydia wouldn't either, considering her tears and panic during their encounter. Maybe that's a good thing, though; fear and discomfort are Johanna's own natural states here in the Capitol, anyhow.

"Johanna," Lydia starts again, her own tone of voice leveling out. "I don't think that you're… well, I honestly don't know anything about you, but you're very young to make these advances toward me. I'm worried you might be, um… You might be making a mistake by..."

"Hold on," Johanna abruptly replies as she stands rather suddenly. She's seeing blood on her hands that isn't there, getting flashbacks she can't repress. It's as if hearing the word _young_ to describe her has sent her into a state of revulsion. This isn't the kind of conversation she invited Lydia in here for, but Johanna's own ability to articulate words isn't very great. It never has been. "I need a second."

"What? Where are you going?"

"I've got to…" Johanna covers her mouth, making a beeline to the bathroom. She barely makes it in before she's suddenly on the floor, dry-heaving into the overly luxurious shower stall. She screams out of misery, slamming her hand against the hard-tiled floor. The smell is god-awful and she immediately turns on the shower, allowing hot water to soak the upper half of her body. Being fully clothed, it doesn't feel that great, but Johanna will take what she can get. She can hear the hurried tapping of high-heeled feet approaching from behind.

"Johanna? Are -- are you alright?" A voice asks from behind her. Johanna looks back to confirm it's Lydia before keeling over, the open shower sputtering water into the floor as it bounces off her. Lydia sounds greatly disturbed. "Oh my god. Do I need to call someone for you?"

"Escargot," Johanna blurts out in response, digging through her mind foor the easiest, most logical explanation other than the truth.

The click of Lydia's shoes becomes even louder as she steps beside Johanna, standing there to look down at the younger woman. She doesn't seem to follow at all. "Why did you just say _escargot?"_

"You know what it is?" Johanna asks, abruptly reaching up to turn off the shower as she pushes herself up into a sitting position. Her makeup has barely smudged, even after all the water, but she probably looks like some kind of swamp-dwelling Morphling Fiend from where she's sitting.

"I know what escargot is," Lydia counters, grabbing one of the clean towels off the shelf on the wall. "I just don't understand why you'd say that. Did I… I don't know, did I _upset_ you?'

"I tried escargot for the first time today. It's snails, Lydia. It was the worst thing I ever ate. If I wanted to hurt someone in the arena, I'd just send my kids a delivery of escargot that they could give to their worst enemy, because it tasted _that_ bad." Johanna is wiping off tears and snot and bile from her face, shivering something fierce. "I think it's still killing my stomach."

It's an outright fabrication, a totally wild tall-tale, because Johanna would rather ramble about completely meaningless shit to save face than risk their asses in a room that could be wire-tappped. She needs a moment out on the rooftops, maybe, but her head and stomach hurt too fucking much.

"I'm so sorry," Lydia apologizes. Slipping her shoes off, she shakily crouches down next to Johanna, handing her a face towel. "I never tried it and never will. It… it sounds horrible."

Johanna poorly suppresses a sob as she accepts the towel, rubbing her face down with the dry towel.

"Are you trying to remove the makeup you're wearing?" Lydia asks rather tentatively. "I'll help."

"You don't need to do that. I'm an asshole," Johanna croaks out, covering her face with her hands out of shame. When she hears the sink turn on and the sound of soap being lathered, her eyes flood with more tears that she cannot hide.

"You didn't… You didn't give me a chance to finish my sentence earlier," Lydia stammers out as she hands a freshly-wet washcloth to Johanna. "Did you throw up because of what I was saying to you before?"

"The thing about making a mistake?" Johanna retorts bitterly, but she still accepts the offered washcloth, anyhow with a pang of guilt mixed in with gratitude. "Maybe. Thanks for the, uh… the towel thing. It feels so warm and soft."

Lydia manages a slight smile as she sits down on the floor next to Johanna. She doesn't appear overly comfortable on a physical level, but she rests a hand on Johanna's shoulder. "You're, uh… You're welcome. Just so we're both on the same page, I'm not bothered by your attraction to women. I didn't know any of the Victors were…"

Johanna snickers in spite of herself as she allows the warmth of the towel to rub away her makeup. The soap smells fresh and clean, much unlike Johanna's own breath. "What, lesbians?"

"Y… yes, actually. I'm one, too," Lydia softly tells Johanna. "Not a Victor, I mean, but a lesbian. I've never told anyone before, though. I thought… I don't know, I found it very, well, _courageous_ that you would tell an Avox that you have one. One being, um, a _girlfriend_. Do you actually have one?"

This question gets out a pathetically loud snort from Johanna. "No way! You think anyone wants to date me? Everyone hates my ass. Plus, a bunch of the Victors are into the same sex, anyways. Cashmere's tried to get into bed with me several times, and I've totally noticed Enobaria checking me out." Not that it's really a point of pride for Johanna. Both of those women are horrible.

"Enobaria, is she… Is she the woman with the… _sharpened teeth?"_ Lydia sounds uneasy by virtue of recalling another previous Victor.

Johanna just sighs. "Yeah, she's a bitch. She'd probably take a bite out of my neck on the spot if we were put in the same room together without any surveillance."

"God, that woman would terrify me as well. I'd probably just start crying if she looked at me, and not… not in a good way," Lydia replies softly, tipping her head toward Johanna to watch over her as she cleans off her makeup. "I think you've wiped most of that off."

"Good," Johanna murmurs, dropping the washcloth in her lap. "I could take a hundred showers and never wash off what my stylist does to me whenever I'm in town. She is a complete asshole. If she didn't have my input, my entire face would be camouflaged with paintings of foliage and I'd be virtually unrecognizable."

Lydia replies with a quiet, if not somewhat awkward, "Hmm." It's not necessarily dismissive, which is nice; people who aren't Victors don't tend to have any interest in understanding Johanna. Taking a deep breath, Lydia begins picking on a finger nail on her hand, of which Johanna passively notices is rather glossy and short. Johanna might even make a comment about short nails as a flirtation if she were feeling more bold, but she's not.

"Yeah, it sucks," Johanna dryly comments, beginning to stand up and feeling immediately woozy. She's ready to get herself something to drink when she begins to waver. Lydia startles, her own breath shaky as she manages to catch the taller woman in her arms before Johanna hits the floor.

"Be careful," Lydia warns her. It would seem she's regained some confidence as her medications kick in, and she's able to hold Johanna steady. "Johanna, I… I think I understand what's going on. Are you following me?"

"Yeah," Johanna weakly whines, feeling rather awkward as she holds onto the other woman. The two of them look like a bastardized _Madonna and Child_ painting, with Johanna clinging to Lydia for dear life and Lydia sitting there, completely stiff and unsure.

"We shouldn't… We shouldn't be here, in this room, to talk about what's going on, should we?" In spite of being the one to physically support Johanna, Lydia is now looking to Johanna as if to await guidance. Oh, fuck, Lydia is getting dangerously close to the truth, but she hasn't hit the target quite yet. Johanna has to say something outrageous to throw her off.

"I just hate being in the Capitol," Johanna vents, which is one step away from openly admitting her ready and intense urge to set the entire fucking city on fire. She wants revolution, rebellion — wants Coriolanus Snow's head on a silver platter and wants to be the one to kill him without mercy.

Yet, Johanna's reputation for being a _sniveling coward_ during her Games remains a prominent part of the public perception of who she is. She's loud and brash enough to terrify any potential fans, but that same attitude only gets more distant admiration from creepy types who _like_ that. Her anger is enough cover, but the vulnerability that lies within is growing increasingly difficult to hide.

When Lydia doesn't respond to that statement, Johanna decides to test the waters again by adding, "That bitch in the elevator _stole_ my shoe."

"I… I know. That was awful," Lydia agrees, running a hand through Johanna's hair, which has begun to unfurl only _slightly_ from the near-static place it had been in before. "It was a nice shoe. I would, realistically, be pissed off if someone did that to me." She eyes her own heels, which she's since taken off, as if to contemplate them.

"I like yours better than the ones I was wearing, honestly," Johanna admits with a pathetic, shallow chuckle. "I didn't even get to pick out my own clothes today. Imagine if I went and got changed and put on a T-shirt to mingle with all of those assholes. Maybe I'd get lucky and they'd kick me out." Perfectly harmless, causal rebellion is the only thing Johanna has the power to manage. She can say _shit, fuck, and asshole_ out in the open and get offended reactions, and the only person who will get hurt from it is _herself._

Problem now is that she's got Tributes to mentor. They're out now, but her and Blight have been tasked to mentor some _awfully young_ teenagers through the Seventy-Third Hunger Games and Johanna heavily doubts either of the kids will make it. Blight is a cool enough guy; he's a bit older than Johanna and much better with kids than she is, but the guilt is really weighing on her now that she's leaning her head against a stranger's shoulder and silently weeping.

"Can I help with your hair?"

The question catches Johanna off-guard. In the time Lydia has sat there silently, she's been anticipating nothing but cruel judgment. Instead, though, an offer to help has been presented. What a rare thing; Johanna hates being seen as weak, but at this point, all she can do is sniffle and nod.

"Uh, yeah, I guess you can," Johanna murmurs, picking herself up to sit up. Feeling Lydia's hands on the back of her head causes the Victor to flinch immediately.

"Am I hurting you?" Lydia innocently asks. Her hands are warm, if not a bit clammy and shaky. That doesn't bother Johanna, but apparently making harmless physical contact with another woman _does_ elicit some sort of confusing reaction from her on a physiological level.

"No," Johanna admits as she allows Lydia to search for the hair tie in the elaborate do-up on her head. "It's fine. I'm just…"

"You're just what?" Lydia continues, her own voice soft but not without her own apparent anxiety. It's clear that she doesn't know where Johanna is going with this, and honestly, Johanna doesn't either. Maybe there's something comforting in that, but Johanna hasn't been comforted by another woman since before losing her mother, so it's hard to say.

"Just not used to being touched, is all," Johanna fills in, sounding a bit stiff and uneasy. "I mean, not by _anyone_. Your hands are soft, though." She flinches as Lydia successfully finds the hair tie, but she's abundantly relieved when the other woman doesn't rip it straight out. Instead, Lydia pulls it out gradually as if she's practiced styling ponytails for years.

"Thanks," Lydia replies, seemingly unsure of what else to say. It doesn't sound disingenuous, rather more so _surprised_ that she herself is the subject of a compliment.

Thank _god_ the Avox is in the other room, because Johanna wouldn't know how to behave if anyone caught her being _emotionally vulnerable._

"I use organic lotion," Lydia gently tells her after a moment. "It's a very high-quality product. Cruelty free, as… as far as I can tell, though the irony of a _phrase_ like that being… being _used_ around here doesn't escape me."

Johanna lets out a shallow laugh at that and nods her head. "Yeah. I didn't think anyone living here would care all that much about cruelty." Color her genuinely surprised, though; Lydia is so much gentler than anyone she's met in the Capitol. The way she runs her hand through Johanna's tangled, long brown hair — it reminds her of the times she's gotten totally wasted around Finnick and had him around to comfort him.

His hands have always been gentle, less calloused than Johanna's, even. The implication of _why_ he must keep his hands soft doesn't miss Johanna. She could get sick all over again just imagining who her best friend has been forced into sleeping with _today_ alone. It makes Johanna want to cry all over again. She doesn't let fresh tears fall, but the temptation to allow it is ever-so-present.

"Believe me, I would be at home with my daughter if I had the choice," Lydia murmurs in a more glum tone. "Every year during the Games, I end up having to leave the house and step away from Kiira because I can't keep myself from crying all the time."

Johanna manages to sit up more, her attention once-again sharpened. "Kiira, that's your daughter?"

Lydia nods. "She's my reason for waking up every morning. The… the thing is, when the Games happen, I can't control how upset I am by seeing other children… _you know."_

_Dying. Lydia must be referring to see other children dying. Other children with other mothers and family members who would give themselves as Tributes in a heartbeat if it were possible._

"I know," Johanna replies, understanding Lydia's anxiety all too well. "God, I know. I can't even protect my own Tributes that well. I've been trying so hard every year since I won and I haven't… I haven't had any of them make it out." They've all been good kids; even the ones who aren't friendly are simply _frightened._ Every tribute has been, in Seven — the Northwestern District has an emphasis on lumber work, not guerrilla warfare. Throwing her face into her hands, Johanna shutters at the thought of what's bound to happen.

"Oh, my god," Lydia softly replies, her voice turned a somber hush. "I can't even imagine. I… I never _had_ to imagine that. I mean, I didn't even consider what the perspective of winning the Games would've been like. I never would have survived that far to begin with."

"It's a good thing you'd never have to worry about it since you're from the Capitol," Johanna replies bitterly. She notices Lydia stiffen immediately after hearing this.

"I'm from District Eight," Lydia replies, her voice barely above a whisper. Looking Johanna firmly in the eyes, her expression sobers. "You cannot, under any circumstances, share that information with anyone here. Understood?" Her words are not domineering or commanding; in fact, she's incredibly nervous. Her hands return together and she's begun to pick on an already-short fingernail. Her jaw is clenched and her body subtly shaking.

Johanna's wide-set brown eyes widen, a note of surprise in them. "Wait, seriously? Is your job that important? Like, is that legal?" She's not intimidated in the least — okay, well, maybe she is a _little,_ because someone living and working in the Capitol could find out Johanna's every move from here on out. It's a frightening hypothetical, at the very least.

Lydia's bravado seems to disappear mere seconds after being displayed, however — when Johanna questions her, she flinches visibly and nods. "Why would I lie about where I'm from? Yes, I'm seriously from Eight, and only one other person in the Capitol knows. I've been here for years and have erased the official records of my past, but if someone of your status announces that information publicly, I… I could lose everything."

It would appear that Lydia is slipping again. Apparently, there wasn't any threat in her demand at all; she seems far more timid than _anyone_ that _lives_ here. Johanna, placing a more firm hand on Lydia's shoulder, attempts to ease her anxiety with some honesty. "Whoa, hey. I'm not telling _anyone,_ don't worry. I wouldn't even dream of fucking you over like that."

Lydia doesn't seem fully convinced, however; now she's the one with tears filling her eyes. She's withdrawing from Johanna again, but not in a stiff or cold manner. Her words are beginning to get somewhat slurred. "Please don't tell anyone. If my… If my daughter finds out, I wouldn't be able to live with myself. I'll lose my job, lose my tongue!"

Lydia's breath hitches. Sitting as close to Johanna as she is, Johanna can feel the other woman's panic. Her breath is hot, but her face is pale as a sheet. "I _cannot_ get made into an Avox," she cries, her voice still lowered as if she's been _well-practiced_ in the art of crying quietly for decades. "My daughter cannot think I abandoned her, _ever._ Johanna, I… I need you to keep this completely between the two of us. If this gets out, I… I…"

Johanna interrupts Lydia with the only thing she can think to do: wrapping her arms around the smaller woman and holding her close. Lydia is _tiny;_ she's fragile, like a doe compared to Johanna's slender, toned build. For that reason, Johanna doesn't grip her _too_ tightly, but instead just gives her a hug. "I won't tell," she repeats. "Nobody will ever know. I'll take it with me to my grave."

Lydia swallows thickly and emits a soft, heartbreaking sound. She's stiff at first, as if the last thing she'd ever expect is a _hug_ from someone with such a savage reputation. Johanna has never been a well-liked Victor, but in this moment, she feels a sense of unity with this woman she just met.

It takes _guts_ to be this open about defying the Capitol, and Johanna doesn't know the half of her story. She wants to ask so many questions, could talk up a storm, but she holds off for Lydia's sake.

"Why?" Lydia begins, her chin resting on Johanna's shoulder. She doesn't return the hug quite yet, but she's beginning to lean against the younger woman. "I mean, why are you being this nice? You don't even know me. I… I could be anyone, a passerby in the background. Why do I matter to you?"

"I don't know," Johanna answers rather bluntly, but it's a knee-jerk reaction, honesty and nothing more. "I don't know, but you sure as shit matter to me now. You're the realest person I've met in the Capitol. I mean, shit, you're risking a hell of a lot for reasons I don't fully understand."

This response causes hesitation. "You don't understand, but you… but you still care?" Lydia doesn't seem to follow what Johanna is saying, like this is a completely different language she's never spoken before. "Is that what you're telling me?"

"Yeah," Johanna says rather glumly, giving Lydia a hearty pat on the back. Accidentally, she gets a hiccup out of the other woman, who tiredly leans her face against Johanna's sternum.

"That's really nice of you," Lydia softly tells Johanna, her voice cracking. Her breath is hot and her hands shaking. "Really, it's… it's genuinely kind that you would care this much. I… I should probably return to my room soon. I don't want you to keep you any longer than I already have."

"In this state?" Johanna shakes her head "It's not like it's any of my business, but you look super exhausted. Take my bed, if you want to."

Being this close to Lydia, Johanna can feel the way the other woman's throat bobs against her when she swallows nervously. She can feel every tremble, every shudder, every hitch in Lydia's breath. Johanna's expecting her to run for cover the moment she processes the offer.

Instead, Lydia puts her arms around Johanna, weakly reciprocating the hug. "Only if you're sure..." Taking a deep breath, she sighs. "I'm honestly very tired. I… I could use a short rest." She's only a few inches shorter than Johanna herself, but the difference between the two women is noticeable enough — while Johanna is slender, she's got a build to her. It's natural to have a bit of muscle when one chops trees in her spare time.

Lydia, however, is no physically active Victor — she's a very _petite_ woman who _presumably_ was never reaped for the Games. Johanna could easily lift her, bridal style, and take her into her bedroom. Not for anything that isn't respectful, mind you — _honestly,_ this woman seems like she needs a fuckin' _nap_.

"Can I carry you there?" Johanna asks, figuring it won't be a big deal if Lydia outright says no.

"I… I suppose," Lydia replies, much to Johanna's surprise. Wiping her eyes, she's still weeping, but her words are gradually becoming more coherent. "Just, um… How are you going to do it? You're not going to just hoist me over your shoulder like… like a sack of _potatoes,_ are you?"

"Not like a sack of potatoes," Johanna affirms, her somewhat-thick brown eyebrows furrowing. "No way, that'd be rude as shit. I meant more, like, bridal style."

Lydia manages to smile slightly at this, in spite of herself. "Oh, okay. That — that does sound very, um, very nice. Are you sure you can carry me, though? I mean, you're not going to hurt yourself by picking me up? You _did_ just… you know, you were struggling to stand."

Johanna cracks a grin at this. Lydia isn’t wrong by any means, but nobody’s worried about her like _this_ in a while. Well, her friend Finnick has, but that’s fundamentally different. He’s a young man, only slightly older than Johanna herself, with enough trauma on his plate and a girlfriend who he’s got to worry about. He has people. Johanna’s life is void of any familial or romantic bonds.

Just thinking about it, Johanna laughs a little under her breath before she can think of anything to say.

It wouldn’t seem that Lydia is following, from a social standpoint. “Are… Are you laughing at me?”

“Oh, no,” Johanna’s quick to say with a shake of her head, her expression straightening. “No, I’m not laughing at you, I’m just…” Squinting and thinking about how rude her reaction must’ve sounded, she shakes her head again, this time more prominently. “I’m not used to anyone sincerely asking if I’m going to get hurt. I’m just — I’m kind of tickled by that. It’s so sweet. _You’re_ sweet. C’mon, just hold onto me, I’ll pick you up.”

“I don’t usually hear _that_ from anyone,” Lydia comments, but she complies and her hold around Johanna becomes more firm as the younger woman lifts her into her arms. “I mean, nobody ever calls me _sweet,_ not even my coworkers. I don’t think my best friend has called me that before.”

“Well, she’s missing out,” Johanna replies as she begins, very carefully, walking out of the bathroom. Fortunately, her gait is no longer unsteady and she’s regained all of the necessary oxygen in her brain -- well, probably. It’s not like she’s a mental health professional, and certainly not for herself. “You’re a catch.”

Lydia lets out a low, almost amused chuckle at the term _she_ . She shakes her head, stifling a yawn. “My best friend is a very polite and respectable _man,_ but thank you. I nevertheless really appreciate the, uh… the sentiment.”

“Oh, nice,” Johanna replies, smiling as she walks through the Victor suite. It’s a very broad-open type of architecture, with a main bedroom and a secondary, smaller one. Johanna’s bedroom is just a short walk away. “Hey, my best friend’s a man, too! I wonder if that’s a _lesbian thing._ Not that I’d know, because you’re the first other lesbian I’ve met.”

“We can _say_ it’s a lesbian thing,” Lydia replies softly, rubbing her eyes, her voice still congested from her recent panicked crying. She at least sounds a lot more more relaxed now -- _comforted,_ even. “I suppose it wouldn’t matter to anyone else what is and what isn’t. It’s not like we have any collectives or groups we can attend. There’s no _conference_ available for us, no coalition. Not… not _here,_ not in the Capitol.”

As Johanna carries Lydia to her room, she gently sets her down upon the foot of the bed. It’s a very large, incredibly lofty, king-sized bed, as is the standard of beds Victors get to sleep in. The view of the forest, set on the screen, is still there -- and it’s crisp, realistic. It’s almost as if the two of them are in Johanna’s own home District, back at her house in the Victor’s Village.

Well, except this room is far less personal, and none of her belongings are here with her. Even so, Lydia appears rather fascinated by the level of extravagance in which the room is decorated.

“Your room is beautiful,” is what Lydia tells her as she looks over the bed, which really makes her pale in comparison. “This bed is huge. Do you… do you share it with a lot of people?”

That question prompts Johanna to _immediately_ shake her head. “Oh, god, no. I don’t have anyone I would share it with. It’s just me when I stay here -- just me and a huge bed and a view of the forest. I could change the screen if you’d rather see something else. You’re, uh… you’re originally from District Eight, you said?”

“Eleven,” Lydia tiredly replies, climbing up to rest her head on one of the decorative pillows. Beneath it, there’s about four other pillows. Beneath the two decorative pillows, there are four others, which are just as clean but definitely more comfortable for sleeping. Lydia, with immense guilt showing clearly through her expression, closes her eyes and covers her face with one hand. “I… I lied to you, Johanna. I’m sorry. I’m actually from Eleven. But, no, the forest view is very nice. I haven’t been to a forest before.”

Lydia’s personal guilt of having lied about her home district doesn’t really seem founded at all to Johanna, accounting for the fact that she doesn’t know that much about the older woman. Johanna just smiles, laughing gently under her breath. “That’s okay. I lie to people about my past, too. I actually _love_ lying to strangers and probably would’ve done the same thing, if I were you. You rest up well, okay, Lydia?”

Lydia nods, and surprisingly, she seems to be completely at ease upon hearing Johanna’s blatant honesty. “Thanks.” Her voice is barely perceivable by this point. She’s shaking still, her eyes closed as she lays there in a rather _defensive_ sleeping pose. The woman has a manner of behaving, it would seem, to imply she’s always anticipating something completely awful.

Johanna can relate. Once Lydia’s gone quiet and her panicked, shuddery breath turns to slow, relaxed breathing, Johanna takes one of her own throw blankets and gently covers the other woman with it. After checking to make sure that she’s still breathing, Johanna moves a tissue box onto the bed beside Lydia and quietly walks away. She closes the door behind her to give the other woman some privacy.

As she steps out of the room, however, Johanna is hit with a pang of anxiety. Is she in way over her head? She's just met a _defector._ Lydia Rodarte-Quayle is not of the Capitol, or even District Eight, but Eleven. This woman has committed a crime against the Capitol.

Johanna is terrified, not for herself, but for the risk that _Lydia_ has taken by telling Johanna. Fortunately, this suite is realistically private, and since no plans to conspire against the Capitol have been made with her out loud — well, the two of them should be safe.

Admittedly, she is _extremely_ fascinated by Lydia, all things considered. In the meantime, while Lydia takes her post-panic attack nap, Johanna's got shit to do.

Her first order of business is checking on the Avox who's supposed to be waiting on her every hand and foot. Johanna gives a gentle knock at the door and notices that the Avox is asleep, too, and that she's eaten the food Johanna provided. Good.

"Hey," Johanna murmurs, soft but loud enough to be perceived.

The Avox startles awake immediately with a gasp, her eyes widened and tongueless mouth agape, but only momentarily. She covers her mouth as if completely embarrassed, as if to apologize profusely.

"Whoa, whoa, easy. It's just me. It's Johanna. You're not in trouble," Johanna tells the woman with a gentle smile. "Nobody's going to hurt you."

The Avox woman takes a deep breath, audibly _squeaking_ — it's maybe the first time Johanna's heard an Avox vocalize in any way. The poor thing looks completely exhausted.

"Just so you know, the, uh… the _date_ went really well," Johanna says with a shy smile that's admittedly not feigned. The lie about her having sex should be fairly easy to pass off — in fact, the understanding look in the Avox's eyes sets in quickly.

"I bet you don't get a lot of conversation."

The Avox shakes her head, covering her mouth and avoiding eye contact. It's as if she's saying, _no, none at all._

Johanna takes a deep breath. "Hey, what's your name?"

The question seems to startle the Avox, and she's realistically hesitant. She stands up from the bed, fists drawn into balls as she groggily stands on her feet. Taking a nap is, to an Avox, probably an offense that could lead to unthinkable punishment from Snow, or Peacekeepers, or whoever the hell deals out that type of punishment. Sick _fucks_ are who they are. This poor woman already has no freedom.

"I'm not going to tell anyone," Johanna promises. She finds a complimentary pen and paper on the nightstand of the otherwise-unused bedroom and hands it to the Avox. The woman shudders, staring at the paper and accepting it as if she has no other choice in the matter.

Yet, she's willing to indulge Johanna. The woman's writing is neat and gentle, her hand incredibly still as she focuses on penning her name, as if she's done so a million times.

_Willow._

The Avox, no longer an anonymous slave of the Capitol but a woman with a _name_ , hands the paper to Johanna. Looking over it, Johanna can't help but feel a sense of gratitude for her disobedience.

"You have a pretty name, Willow," Johanna says with a saddened smile. She hands back the paper, and Willow writes a response, this time more hastily scrawled.

_Am I in trouble? Are you going to report me?_

Willow looks undeniably uncomfortable. It would make sense why. Johanna is quick to shake her head. "No way in hell am I gonna report you, but is it okay if I ask you questions from time to time? You know, 'cause I don't have any _family_ to call, or _friends_ back at home to miss. I know you're not _capable_ of shit-talking me, anyways, but I feel bad ordering you around in public. I feel bad for any Avox I've been an asshole to before."

Willow actually manages a smile, but it's a saddened one. She nods, nevertheless, and writes, _I don't mind at all. You're the person who's asked me questions since I was forced to live here._

Johanna frowns at that, taking a deep and shuddering breath. _"Fuck,_ I'm so sorry." Running a hand down her face, Johanna takes a deep breath. "I don't even know where I'd begin, but I'll think about those questions. In the meantime, uh, can I ask that you don't pass on anything you hear in here? I mean, not even to other Avoxes, unless you've got cool friends who won't… _you know,_ report either of us for this."

Willow, with a sigh, places a hand upon Johanna's. Shortly after, she writes, _I promise I won't tell, as long as you won't either. I wouldn't dream of getting a Victor who respects me in trouble. That goes for your girlfriend, too. You're both safe from me._

Johanna is halfway tempted to spill the beans, to tell the truth: Lydia is not her girlfriend. Yet, Johanna's just going to keep that front for protection. A Victor, after all, rare as her own sexuality is, is allowed to have a relationship.

The nice thing is, it's a _fake_ relationship, which means Lydia won't end up getting hurt by being close to Johanna.

At least, that's what she tells herself long after the conversation with Willow. Once the Avox returns to the living room and resumes her uncomfortable, statuesque guard of the room, Johanna scribbles over the writing and then shreds it, dispersing the torn words throughout different trash cans. One in the kitchen, another in the bathroom, another in the guest bedroom. It feels like a cruel thing to do, to destroy a mute person's only words, but if anyone else finds out about this, Willow especially is _fucked._

Better safe than sorry.

Upon Johanna's reluctance to ask for help, Willow heats up some stolen leftovers for Johanna and she finally _begins to eat._

By the time Johanna finishes practically _inhaling_ a bowl of beef stew, she hears stirring from her bedroom. Lydia opens the door and steps outside to greet her. She looks even _smaller_ without her high heels on, and Johanna cannot help but reflect on how easy it was to carry her.

Lydia is a _very small_ woman.

"Hey," Johanna greets her as Lydia steps into the open-kitchen area. "Welcome back to the world of the living."

Lydia appears confused and disoriented, and she doesn't seem to understand Johanna's greeting. "Uh, thank — _thank_ you? That's a colloquial term from Seven, I'm guessing?"

Johanna laughs slightly. "Yeah, it — I mean, it's just a dramatic way to say good morning when, uh…" She rinses the bowl she was using, trying to even figure out an explanation of her morbid sense of humor. It must be a Victor thing, because Finnick Odair probably would've laughed and made a snappy joke about karma forcing him to, _tragically,_ be unable to die. In their friendship, he's always the charismatic and charming one. Johanna ends up so lost in thought that she doesn't finish her sentence.

"Because I was taking a nap?" Lydia awkwardly tries to fill in for Johanna, her voice hesitant. She seems comparatively relaxed, though she doesn't seem fond of eye contact or close quarters at the moment. Not a problem for Johanna — in fact, the lack of pressure to _stare_ into her eyes makes socialization that much easier.

"Yeah!" Johanna decidedly replies, a grin showing on her face. "Yeah, it was just a greeting. My way of saying, uh, I'm totally glad you're alive and didn't die in my bedroom."

Lydia, much to Johanna's surprise, manages a little laugh. It's soft and low, and the speed in which she moves isn't quite as _wired_ as before. "That's such a unique compliment. Thank you, Johanna. I… _honestly_ , I'm glad for that, too. I'm not in any position to die."

This honestly gets a smile out of Johanna. She's not sure why, but the prospect of someone willingly being around her and _not_ praying for an immediate death just makes her happy. "Good, because you shouldn't die, ever."

"Oh." Lydia smiles even more now. It's almost as if she's _thrilled_ to hear that someone wants her alive, though she doesn't show it in any way other than smiling and looking away rather bashfully. "I'll try even harder not to die, then. For — for you."

 _For you._ That sentence is going to give Johanna fuckin' heart palpitations. She has no idea how to react to such a softly-spoken, genuine sentence. "Great! Uh, you want some lunch, or early dinner? Can I get you anything to drink?"

Lydia's green eyes light up at the offer. "That would be nice!" Though, she squints after a moment, hesitant as she looks to Johanna rather shyly. "I'm — I'm kind of a picky eater, though. Sorry, my dietary needs are — I'm not sure what you have."

Johanna raises her eyebrows. "Shit, don't even worry! Check this out." Quickly walking over to the refrigerator, which is ridiculously over-the-top _huge_ , fancy, and well-stocked as ever, Johnna opens it up. Lydia's immediately impressed and she walks over to get a closer look.

"Oh, my god," she comments softly, staring intensely at the assortment of options. "This looks like a small grocery store. How -- how healthy is the food?"

"Basically as healthy as you can get, I _think,_ " Johanna replies, not entirely certain of the truth. "Victors kind of get whatever we want as far as food goes. It's basically one of the only pros to having committed murder."

Lydia is so impressed with the selection of fruits and vegetables that she's not even _parsed_ by the casual murder confession. "You have fresh-- fresh _sliced mango?_ Oh my god, how do you _not_ stay in your room eating fruit all day?"

Johanna just giggles. "I honestly do, most of the time! I mean, I don't have much else to live for, so, mangoes kind of add to the appeal."

"I'm so sorry. I know that must be difficult," Lydia replies, looking over to Johanna with compassion in her gaze, placing a supportive hand on the younger woman's shoulder. "Do you… Do you mind if I make myself a salad?"

Johanna smiles. "Aw, not at all. Use whatever the fuck you want, seriously. Don't worry about taking my stuff, there's gonna be more tomorrow anyway. What do you want to drink?" Stepping back from the refrigerator and leaving room for Lydia to do her thing, Johanna goes to retrieve a salad bowl for Lydia.

"That's so generous," Lydia replies rather gratefully, already comparing a couple of different salad mixes. "You don't happen to have tea, do you?"

"Fuck yeah, I've got tea. What kind do you want?"

"Anything but Earl Grey," Lydia quickly replies, as if on reflex. "Chamomile would be nice, if you have it."

"Oh, I _definitely_ have it," Johanna replies with a grin. She leaves the bowl near Lydia and goes for the tea cups, which are, of course, _extremely_ fucking elaborate and gorgeous. "I love a good calming drink. I'm pretty much constantly wired, so, it's great for that."

"It is nice," Lydia agrees. "Thank you for saying that. I work with a lot of men and _some_ of them have criticized me for wanting to drink tea when I'm stressed out. You know, it's not a big deal until someone makes it out to be. This, um, subordinate of mine is particularly…"

Lydia catches herself rambling very intensely and frowns, realizing in her lack of focus that her salad is _entirely_ made up of mangoes and strawberries. 

"Well, he's _rude_ . Tea is important to me. I respect him because he's an older gentleman and he has a granddaughter, so credit is given where it's due, I suppose, but with him, it's always, _drink your tea and calm down, Lydia._ It's like--" 

Lydia does a wild, expressive gesture with her hands, adding some spinach to her salad. "I do _not_ understand what the big deal is. Tea is good. I haven't done anything _wrong_ by enjoying the same flavor of tea every day."

Johanna smiles, pouring water into the kettle and turning on the stove. It's an electric stove -- thank god, because Johanna does _not_ like fire in the very least. The fear is a realistic one, given what Snow did to her house, but she'll avoid gas stove tops at _all_ costs and has since she was seventeen.

"You're so right. I like chamomile, too," Johanna says with a grin. "It's fucking _delicious_. Black tea is great for waking up in the morning, too. I'm more of a coffee person for caffeine's sake, but I still make tea all of the time back in Seven. It's a serious luxury in the Districts."

"Believe me, I know," Lydia replies. "Every day, I try to stress that to Mike — he's my security advisor. He's good at the job, but he often criticizes my ethics and management of HR. It's exhausting."

Johanna just nods with an amused smile. "The guy sounds like a total blowhard. No need to be ashamed of your tea habits here."

In due time, the water is ready, and Johanna gets ready to pour it into the cup. Lydia steps in just in time to hand Johanna a small carton of soy milk Johanna didn't even know she had stocked.

"Can you add some of this?" Lydia asks, looking almost shy. "I'd like to add some stevia extract as well, um, if you won't be offended by me adding that to the tea. I already have my own packets, in my purse."

 _"Agh_ , I'm so hurt and wounded," Johanna sarcastically replies in an overly theatrical, but fairly relaxed voice. "No, of course I'm not offended! I have no idea what stevia extract is, but go ahead and add whatever you want. I love honey in tea. Sweeteners are great."

"I assume you're being sarcastic?" Lydia asks, rather cautious. "I _hope_ you wouldn't be wounded by me liking that. I have a sensitivity to sugar."

Johanna's quick to shake her head. "No, sorry. I didn't, uh, I didn't mean to offend. I sometimes make jokes and get sarcastic when I'm nervous."

"That's okay," Lydia replies, sitting down at the table to eat after she's added her sweetener. She seems to wait, however, for the tea. "To tell you the truth, I don't always, um… I don't understand sarcasm at all. I tend to worry everyone is attacking me for just laughing, or smiling, or— I don't know. I just don't have that confidence that you have. I can't do it."

Johanna frowns, feeling a pang of guilt hit her. Oh, god, the worst possible thing is happening — not the actual worst thing, granted, but the second worst thing for a Victor after losing all of her loved ones is scaring someone she likes.

"I didn't mean it like that," Johanna tells her gently, frowning and avoiding looking at the other woman. "I'm sorry. I… I was just smiling and laughing because, uh… This is just the most fun I've had in ages. It's been so nice."

"Fun?" Lydia asks. It's not defensive or angry, but her eyes widen and she looks to Johanna again with widened eyes. "You can't… you can't be serious. You got sick and cried. Is that truly your definition of fun?"

Johanna blinks slowly. "Yeah, actually. I mean… I mean, not because of _that_ , but because you helped me out. I don't know, I don't ever talk to other women."

"Oh," Lydia replies softly. "Well, that's okay, I suppose. I don't speak this extensively to other women, either, so this has been an interesting experience. My idea of fun is more along the lines of staying at home with my daughter. I doubt that's interesting to you."

"I think it's interesting," Johanna says honestly, smiling shyly as she sits down across the table. "I mean, your daughter is lucky to have a mother like you. I wish my parents had been that brave, honestly."

Much to Johanna's relief, Lydia's rather comforted by affirmation. "Thank you, Johanna. Believe it or not, you're one of the first women who have spoken to who hasn't treated me as _just a mother,_ but the truth is, that's often all I feel like."

"Not to me," Johanna reassures her. "You just seem like a really nice, interesting woman. I don't know, I think a lot of the people in the Capitol are totally weird. You're, like, the most down-to-earth person I've met who lives here. "

Lydia takes a sip of tea. She seems to be enjoying the salad quite a bit. "Thanks." It's not exactly a wordy reply, but Johanna hardly minds.

"Hey, you wanna go to a party with me tonight?" Johanna abruptly asks, smiling. "There's this event coming up, a _banquet._ "

"A banquet?" Lydia asks. "I suppose so. I’ll warn you in advance, though — I’m not exactly a _party_ type of person. I don’t do well in social situations or large gatherings."

"That’s fine," Johanna tells her with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. “You don’t really have to be. Capitol parties are typically just a huge circle jerk anyways, but it’s free fancy food and a good distraction. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

“A distraction would be nice, yeah,” Lydia replied. “Thank you for the invitation. Should we reconvene later on tonight, then? I should probably get going soon so I can get ready.”

Johanna can’t help but grin, surprised by her own enthusiasm. She’s not usually the social type herself, but this is going to prove to be rather fun. “Sounds perfect to me.”

* * *

It’ll be nice to have someone to accompany her, now; Johanna looks forward to introducing Finnick to her new friend. She can’t help but daydream about all of the possible scenarios in which Lydia could aid her in rebelling against the Capitol. Surely, their mutual distaste for President Snow’s fascist, shitty regime would remain rather comforting to Johanna.

It may end up proving difficult for Johanna to admit this to herself, but she’s going to miss Lydia once she heads back to Seven.

**Author's Note:**

> My motto is always _"the less popular a female character I like is, the more I need to love her"_ \-- hence this quirky little interaction between two completely unpopular fictional women I adore!


End file.
